


Carnivore

by Stitchlips



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dark!Bucky, Doggy Style, Dom!Bucky, I Don't Even Know, It got a little out of hand, M/M, PWP, Porn With Plot, SO, Top!Bucky, Woops, animalistic bucky is my favorite bucky, bottom!Steve, but then it gets kinda fluff, or it was supposed to be, sub!Steve, the porn is at the end and starts abut 3.8k words in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stitchlips/pseuds/Stitchlips
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He can almost hear him licking his chops, tongue gliding over his canines and growl rumbling deep in his chest. Sometimes, Steve will be alone in his apartment and then he will hear a creak, a normal settling of the house, but he will freeze his eyes on the paper of the book he’s reading and swear he can feel the soldier’s breath on the back of his neck. Heat, unfurling over the hairs at the base of his head, and his fingers will tremble as he struggles to turn the page. Sometimes it’s entire minutes before he can bring himself to reach back and rub his neck, just to get rid of the feeling.</p><p>He doesn’t know why Bucky is watching, but he is, and it’s unnerving."</p><p>PWP that turned into porn with plot. Kinda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carnivore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glossary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glossary/gifts).



> Based on my lovely cinnamon bun [Bri's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenisation/pseuds/goldenisation) kind-of request of "i'm fine with almost anything as long as someone is really fucked in the head but there's hope in the future. basically: hurt/comfort. and i also like snarky dialogue"
> 
> Got a little carried away with the snarky dialogue. With dialogue as a whole. This got way long for porn. OH WELL.
> 
> By the way, if anyone ever wanted to beta for me, I'd be all about that life! BC I miss all my mistakes always.

Steve can feel the Winter Soldier watching him.

It’s the same sense that probably lets rabbits sense foxes. He feels like if he snapped his head around fast enough, that he will be able to catch the glint of blue in his eyes. See the movement in the shadows, see the slow, graceful roll of his shoulders, catlike, the hang of his mouth, wolflike. That if he was quick, he would turn just in time to see a wet flash of Bucky’s teeth just before they sunk into his nape. There is a kind of thrill in this, but there is also a kind of hunger. Steve doesn’t know which one of them is going to break first, who is going to eventually get tired of waiting and begin to sprint, and more than that, if it’s him, Steve doesn’t know which direction he’ll be running.

But Bucky is in his peripheral vision at all times, and if he isn’t, then he’s still there, just out of sight.

He can almost hear him licking his chops, tongue gliding over his canines and growl rumbling deep in his chest. Sometimes, Steve will be alone in his apartment and then he will hear a creak, a normal settling of the house, but he will freeze his eyes on the paper of the book he’s reading and swear he can feel the soldier’s breath on the back of his neck. Heat, unfurling over the hairs at the base of his head, and his fingers will tremble as he struggles to turn the page. Sometimes it’s entire minutes before he can bring himself to reach back and rub his neck, just to get rid of the feeling.

He doesn’t know _why_ Bucky is watching, but he _is_ , and it’s unnerving. Steve can barely go out to visit Sam without getting the twist of anticipation in his gut that follows him the entire way there. Like when he was a kid and had to walk home alone at night, on those rare occasions when Bucky wasn’t there (and wasn’t that a mouthful of irony), that feeling when he was so sure something was behind him in the dark corners of the building and trees that, in a spurt of pure fear and adrenaline, he’d taken off running for his home, feeling a presence at his heels until he slammed the door closed behind him. It was ridiculous – nothing was ever chasing him – but he’d done it up into his adulthood. At least once in his late twenties.

But that’s _all the time_ now, and the thing is, Steve _knows_ there’s something right behind him. The urge to sprint is there, always, but he also has the urge to spin around and finally face what’s been pressed between his shoulder blades his entire life. He just doesn’t know what he’ll find, and maybe that’s the scary part.

Because of course he wants his old Bucky back. Of course he does.

But that Bucky, whether either of them like it or not, is gone. Or, well, maybe not gone.

Bucky had always been a loyal Labrador, quick to defend and quick to love. Following him into every situation, just like now.

But Old Yeller was a good dog, once, too. Madness slathered his jowls, and glinted in his eyes, and even though Steve would never pull the trigger, would rather succumb to the madness himself, his sweet old pal wasn’t the same anymore. Was more fit to run with wolves.

Maybe he was just trying to figure out if Steve was more man than beast.

Either way, when Steve feels Bucky watching him as he moves into his apartment one night, he is almost – _almost_ – used to it. You never really get used to being constantly watched, but Steve knows it so well it settles like a predatory second skin.

He had tried to coax Bucky into the light a couple times. But drawing attention to Bucky, trying to turn and look at him… well. He apparently didn’t like it much at all, really – after Steve’s last attempt, the soft call of his name, his shadow had disappeared for a week. Desperate and terrified that he’d scared the other man off, Steve had vowed not to frighten him again if he came back.

He had, of course, appearing in the reflection of Steve’s window, decked out in full riot gear, and then he’d been gone when Steve turned around to go to the bathroom. Maybe no one needed to know the ten minutes of relieved trembling Captain America had given himself in the shower.

There is a shift in the corner as Steve enters his home, and he doesn’t acknowledge it, carefully noting it and then setting down his grocery bags. He takes out the oranges and arranges them in the bowl of the center of his table, and then turns to put away his milk, careful to keep his breathing steady.

In.

Out.

Steve closes the refrigerator door and then freezes when he hears movement, this time… deliberate. Noticeable.

Sure, Steve knew when he was there, but that was mostly because… well. He knew Bucky was there, anyway. It was an assumption that was always right. But Bucky, though he must know that Steve knew, was always quiet as a mouse, barring the house groans that could be attributed to wind. Maybe purposeful.

Steve couldn't pretend to know what Bucky wanted; if he wanted Steve to know he was there, to know _he knew_ Steve knew he was there.

But… well. He was being a little. Obvious.

As in suddenly Steve is pressed against the refrigerator, a firm, biting metal palm in the center of his back.

Bucky’s other hand has one of Steve’s pinned to the small of his back. Steve belatedly drops his bag of bagels and swallows, closing his eyes.

He can hear Bucky kick the bagels aside as he moves in, the soft exhale of damp heat against the back of his ear. Steve shudders, and Bucky’s fingers tighten subtly around the bones in his wrist.

“Steve Rogers,” he murmurs, and the metal digits glide up from his spine to touch the back of his neck, even as his other hand jerks Steve’s wrist up and makes sure he stays in place. “Stevie,” he corrects himself, but even with his eyes closed, Steve can hear the wry smirk on the Soldier’s face.

Steve can’t bring himself to open his eyes quite yet, instead squirming a little to try and get his wrist a little more comfortable. Bucky stops breathing for a moment, and Steve has become so familiar with those eyes on him that he can feel them glide down his back and then return to the side of his face, where it’s pressed against the metal.

“Bucky,” he tries, flexing his fingers and shivering against Bucky’s wandering metal fingers. They glide against his ear and then down to where his neck meets his shoulder. Almost like he’s curious, but there is an intent in it that still has the blond’s hackles rising even as his knees tense up. Flight or fight, he’d think, except he wouldn’t do either. Just. Tension.

“Hmmmm?” Bucky pauses with his fingers playing at the hook of Steve’s jaw, smooth and inhuman and dragging, like if he had claws he’d be digging them in. It’s possessive, thoughtful, and Steve finally opens his eyes.

He still doesn’t really have a good view, but in the corner of his eye, he can see Bucky looking right back at him, close, angles pitched in shadow.

He is monochrome in the moonlight streaming through his window, all lit up in grays and silvers. A shadow, a shade, like a ghost in the old movies; the left side of his face is dipped all in black, all except for the gleam of his eyes, the only stark color in his portrait. They’re as blue as ever, and sharp as a tack, locked onto him.

Steve doesn’t really know what he wants to say, or ask – he stays quiet for a moment too long, and the corner of Bucky’s mouth ticks up in a way that sends dark, hot spirals coiling in Steve’s stomach. “Just wanted to say my name, Stevie?” he asks, and his teeth are very white, flashing at him from under the curl of his knife-blade mouth.

His shoulders are curled up near his ears, like he is hiding between the stalks of long-grass, panther-like. Hair hangs around his eyes. Predator eyes. Bucky is all felidae, the gleam of his canines doing nothing to detract from the cat-like way he moves.

“Bucky,” he tries again, voice thick.

Bucky rumbles, pressing his arm closer to the small of his back as he leans in and lets his mouth hover near Steve’s ear. “I like it,” he murmurs, and his metal fingers move back down his back, glossing from his shoulder down to his ribs. He moves to glide them around so they touch Steve’s stomach, which is rapidly twisting in on itself and heating up.

This is bad. Isn’t it? It should be bad. Steve swallows and blinks hard, though this does little more than emphasize the way Bucky’s index finger has started lazily drawing circles around his navel. “Are you okay?” he manages, brows coming down over his eyes. “Are you—I know you’ve been following me around, you know I know—”

Bucky sighs, like Steve has disappointed him. His palm goes flat on Steve’s stomach, just resting there, not pulling him closer. The gears under his bicep whir and purr softly as they readjust, and Steve somehow feels something in Bucky’s wrist shift against his abdomen through the metal exoskeleton. It’s enough for Steve’s breath to catch for a second. His knees are going a little shaky, and he firms them as best he can, jaw tightening.

“I’m more curious about you,” Bucky says, breathing close to his ear again. Steve shakes. “You’ve been letting me follow you,” he whispers, looking at him with heavy lids and moving his hand so his palm is gliding up towards his heart. “Have no idea how much I remember. If I knew you, really, or if it was just some… malfunction in my programming that pulled you out of the Potomac. Your weakness is me.” His eyes are bright blue gun barrels. “It was… very easy to tell. All of your friends know… that’s dangerous. You constantly put yourself in danger just by being so unafraid of me. You’d do anything if it meant getting me back.” His mouth is curled up in a volatile smirk again. “But I’ve been right behind you the entire time. Why not turn around and grab me? You have the forces… you _could_.” He’s eyeing Steve’s jaw now. His tongue slides to wet his lips. “You could have. This entire time.”

Steve exhales quietly, trying not to look at the wet gleam of Bucky’s mouth. “I’m not going to force you to do anything, Bucky. Even if I want you… want you here. I would never force you to do anything you didn’t want. Even if that meant you didn’t want…” He grits his teeth, looking out to the window that is currently lighting them both up. “If you wanted me out of your life.”

This seems to be the correct answer. Bucky’s eyes drift back up to the single one Steve has visible and his jaw is loose now, the smile gone. He looks like he’s going to say something, but instead, his hand slides back down to Steve’s stomach.

It keeps going, and Steve’s stomach seems to drop and light up in protest.

Bucky’s hand pauses neatly on Steve’s belt buckle, fingertips brushing against his zipper and thumb hooked in his waistband. Steve’s head drops of its own volition, mouth dropping open and then clicking shut as his throat works.

“Bucky,” he says again, and it comes out sounding like a warning.

Bucky’s eyes are gleaming and black now, animal. “Are you going to stop me?” His teeth make a reappearance, but only the lower jaw, loose enough to show off his tongue and the pink of his mouth. “What do you want, Steve Rogers?”

The world seems to hang on hinges, tilted sideways and busted open. Steve swallows. “I want… I want to look at you.”

Bucky’s face twitches into amusement and heat, cat eyes and a wolfish grin. “No,” he replies. He releases Steve’s wrist and grabs his waist instead, warm, human. His thumb pushes into Steve’s t-shirt and rubs the skin over his hipbone, sparking and heat as he pushes Steve gently towards the counter just beside the refrigerator. “Try again. Make it fun this time.”

Grip reaffirmed, Bucky’s metal hand slides away from Steve’s belt and returns to his back, and before Steve can process it it’s pressing him down over the counter and holding him there. Bucky bends over him, his flesh hand picking up the slack and curiously beginning to smooth down over his spine. Steve knows he could break free, right now, if he wanted to. Force Bucky to look at him face to face.

Bucky’s human hand glides down to his ass and then keeps going, pressing between his legs in a way that makes Steve grunt in surprise and rock up on his toes.

It’s becoming increasingly hard to pretend he isn’t getting really, really turned on. Steve feels dirty; this definitely is not the time, Bucky might not even know who he is, he might have any number of reasons to be doing this, he—

The hand between his legs presses up again, fingers just against his perineum and Bucky’s thumb snugged against his butt, and Steve’s jaw drops and the noise that comes out of him isn’t exactly discouraging.

Bucky has the gall to laugh at him, but the way it sounds is so sultry, low, the exact kind of chuckle he used to make whenever he knew he was about to get his way. “I don’t think you even needta tell me at this point… but I still wanna hear it. Need to hear it.” The drawl that comes over him is like syrup, thick and familiar and sweet, and Steve jerks a little at the sound of it, cock filling up so fast his pants strain. “You understand. I’m not a nice boy, sweetie, but I do have my limits when they ain’t got a collar on me.” The implications of that threaten to make Steve come out of the moment and _think like a sane person_ , but Bucky bends close over him and his fingers start pressing up in little teasing thrusts and Steve’s head thunks against the counter again. “Tell me what you want, Stevie.”

“I want you to come home,” he manages, even as his traitorous body rocks up on its toes again and his fingers start to twitch where they’re laid out across the counter.

“If you took the last word off of that we’d be getting somewhere,” Bucky replies, but there’s something in his voice that says he’s just teasing. Still, it’s. Well. Kinda not hard to see what Bucky wants, and if he’s being honest with himself…

“I want you,” Steve murmurs into his countertop, swallowing audibly and closing his eyes.

Bucky’s fingers reward him, squeezing and pressing up into him until Steve gasps and clenches his teeth, and then his hand retreats. Steve almost panics, eyes snapping open again, but Bucky is just reaching to yank his jeans down and a thrill shoots up Steve’s spine. “How?” Bucky asks him, fingers primly grabbing the waistband of Steve’s underwear, too. He pulls them down just to midthigh and then smooths his human palm over the exposed skin.

Steve is starting to shake again, with anticipation, now. “I don’t care,” he says, honestly, and Bucky’s amusement drops away so quickly he can feel it vacuumed out of the room.

“Don’t say that, doll,” he replies, quietly, brontide in his chest. “Don’t know what I’ll do to you if you say that.”

“I want whatever you’re going to give me.” It’s a challenge, it’s an offer, and Bucky knows it.

He’s still holding him down with the metal hand, but the flesh one is curved against the top of his ass, and abruptly it takes a tighter hold. Bucky swallows, loudly, and then digs in his nails hard enough for Steve to hiss.

“Wanna make you mine,” he murmurs, voice like sandpaper, like a growl. “Want ‘em to know I’m your weakness. Without a doubt in the world.” He exhales softly against Steve’s shoulder, and Steve squirms. “I like being the only thing that makes you so stupid you’d knock out everyone who stood in your way.” He bends close enough that his teeth are scraping Steve’s ear, and his hips, still covered in his tactical pants, brush Steve’s bared skin. “You’re mine anyway. Ain’t ya.” It’s not a question. “You’d do anything if it meant I stayed here. Wouldn’t ya. I could leave you just like this and tell you to stay and you’d do it. I could fuck you and tell you not to come and you wouldn’t.” His hips press into Steve once, twice, and Steve whimpers.

Bucky stiffens. “You want it, too. Look at you. Let me bend you over like you were waitin’ for it.” Bucky’s teeth find the back of Steve’s neck and sink in, sharp, animalistic, dominant, and Steve groans before he can help himself, feels his legs move apart of their own volition. Bucky’s mouth curls and Steve can feel the grin against his nape.

Bucky had always been good at dirty talk; even if he seemed to almost be mocking Steve right now, the press of the brunet’s cock through his pants is enough to tell Steve that this is a mutual thing. His mouth is thick with saliva and he nods at the implications, knowing full well that some part of him _had_ been waiting for it. “Yes,” he sighs, “Bucky,” and arches his back, peeking at the other man over his shoulder. “I want it.”

Abruptly, with that one little motion, Bucky’s eyes go darker and he’s lifting his metal hand to rip Steve’s henley off over his head, not letting the other rise up to help, a steady growl in his throat. The shirt ends up in Steve’s sink, but he can’t physically care about it right now because Bucky’s cold metal hand presses against his bare skin, now, and he’s bent over him again, hips thrusting against him again in tiny little hints. “You want it. All arched up and pretty and sayin’ my name like that. I remember this, Stevie, don’t you worry.”

His eyes are hot and black and just like that, any inhibitions about this Steve might’ve had are gone. Bucky remembered this. Remembered _them_. At least this. A little bit.

“Buck,” he says, without meaning to, and bends his spine up again, harder. It’s not as easy to do, big as he is, but Bucky almost _snarls_ and lets go off Steve’s ass to start fiddling with his own belt, still pinning him to the counter all the while.

“Tell me what you want,” he hisses, and Steve pushes back into him, head going hazy.

“I want you.”

“More.”

“I want to feel you in me.” He blushes, a little, tipping his head to hide it in his bicep, but Bucky isn’t having that. Pants apparently successfully out of the way, he reaches forward and grabs Steve by the hair, pulling his head back and just making the line of his body even more desperate looking.

“You wanna be mine again, too, don’t you.”

And he’s helpless, throat bared and fingers starting to ache where they’re bent against the counter. “I never stopped bein’ yours.”

Bucky seems pleased, pressing his hips close again, and now it’s skin on skin and Steve groans, feels the head of Bucky’s cock slotting between his legs, nudging up into him. They both chuff like horses, and Steve wishes so bad he could turn over and look at him, see him standing there above him, proud and predatory and half-dressed and in control. Steve doesn’t doubt he has weapons all over his body, ready to kill at any moment, but Bucky’s metal hand moves to take the flesh hand’s place in his hair and pulls it tighter and Steve’s throat burbles up a soft moan.

“Musta been waiting so long for me, Stevie,” he purrs, and there’s a moment where Steve can’t feel his other hand. But then it starts teasing at his entrance, and Bucky’s thick fingers are slick and warm. Steve jerks, surprised, and huffs out something that could be a laugh.

“I didn’t walk around with lube in my pocket or anything, but— _hnnn._ ”

Bucky pushes in a finger without warning him, and Steve’s head droops in the other man’s grip, jaw dropping open as his body works to readjust. God, it’s been so _long_. “Shadup. I’m not the one that jerked off when I knew someone was watchin’ me.” After a minute, Bucky’s finger starts curling in a beckoning motion, and Steve clamps down on him without meaning to, breath catching. It seems to have the same effect on Buck; when he speaks again, it’s a little hoarse, and his hard nudges are becoming more insistent. “Murmurin’ my name like maybe I couldn’t hear you. Like you were ashamed you were doin’ it. That was playing dirty, you shit. Wanted to crawl into your window and tease you back until you sobbed for it.” His voice is breathy now, and he starts pushing in another finger. From his skewed view, Steve can see Bucky’s mouth hanging in an open grin. “You used to cry so pretty, you remember?”

Steve whines with embarrassment and then it sharpens into pleasure when Bucky twists both his fingers just right. “I wasn’t—hhh, I wasn’t the _only one_ , if _you_ remember.”

Bucky purrs against his temple, exhales soft and slow. “Now _that_ I wouldn’t mind a reminder in.”

He doesn’t give Steve the time to feel bad about it before he’s biting into Steve’s neck again, hard, and pressing in a third finger. Steve remembers how he used to take his time, every so often, when he knew no one in the apartments around them could hear, if they were out in town or asleep. This isn’t one of those times. Steve’s grateful; the burn is an ache that is so familiar, but that he hasn’t felt in long enough that it’s almost surprising. Bucky isn’t wasting time now, they’re both getting desperate, and Steve presses back into his fingers fast enough that he kinda hurts himself but he also kinda doesn’t care.

“Mine, ain’t ya,” Bucky murmurs to him, his voice so obviously upturned that he must be grinning. “You want me so bad. You didn’t even fuck anyone else, did you? Even when you didn’t know I was alive? Lookin’ like you do, you coulda had anyone you wanted… and you’re still all mine. Hero of America and desperate for my cock.” He purrs, gives a bite to Steve’s ear that’s almost loving but too hard to be quite that. “You feel so good, sweetheart… gonna feel so good. I promise it’ll be worth the wait.”

Steve absolutely believes him, and groans impatiently. “Bucky, come on… _nnh_ , come on, I’m ready, I’ve b- _been_ ready…”

“You’re bossy,” he chuckles breathlessly, spreading his fingers inside him and stuttering a moan out of Steve. “I’m the one fucking you and you’re still so bossy. Just lucky I’m so—hhh, so eager to take what’s mine or I’d just do you like this until you came. And you’d like it, even when you’d tell me over and over to give you my dick. You’re—” he pulls his fingers out and Steve’s forehead presses into the counter, echoes out a moan, as Bucky’s metal hand grabs his hip instead – “lucky, punk.”

“So lucky,” Steve agrees immediately, mostly to get him to move along, but also because it’s true. This was probably best case scenario he was getting right now. He shifts his hips back and makes contact with Bucky’s, groaning. “Come _ooooon_.”

“Fine, fine,” Bucky says, letting out a breathless little laugh as he pushes Steve’s pants down a little more. “I’ll fuck you. If you’re gonna be all needy about it.”

“ _Asshole_ ,” Steve groans into the counter, and Bucky laughs again, for the first time kissing him on one of the bites he’d left. But it seems he’s done playing around; a moment later, he’s lining them up, and when he starts pushing in, Steve rocks up on his toes again and feels them curl into the wood floor.

Bucky’s breathing starts going labored as soon as he gets the tip of his cock in, and he buries his face in Steve’s neck, panting softly and digging his nails into the taut skin of Steve’s hips. Steve, on the other hand, is mostly just letting out soft little keens, because, god, yes, _finally_ , finally, and it feels like he has finally found home again.

The brunet sinks in and in, slowly, slowly, and when he bottoms out he gasps, clutching at Steve’s hips rhythmically as he tries to get his breath back. Steve feels so full, so _good_ , and he wriggles a little, toes scooting against the floor. Bucky had always been just the right size for him; he feels like if he took his feet off the ground right now he wouldn’t move an inch. It makes him shudder to think about, and Bucky gasps, chest rising and falling against Steve’s back.

“Goddamn,” he puffs, pressing his forehead into Steve’s nape. “Fuck… _fuck_ , sweetie, you feel so _right_ … I never wanna move from this spot right here…”

Steve pushes back against him immediately in protest, and Bucky groans, squeezing him hard enough that the bruises might stay for a few hours. “ _Jesus,_ Steve,” he hisses, nipping at him hard enough to sting, to get Steve to jerk. “Gimme a minute or this won’t last long enough for me.”

“I’ve been waiting for—” Steve starts, but Bucky’s short little shove into him shuts him up.

“Long enough that you can give me two seconds so I don’t blow my load, you impatient dick,” Bucky growls at him, but then he kisses Steve again, his jaw this time, and he’s smiling. Steve really shouldn’t be encouraging his ginormous, smug head, but there it was.

And he’s rewarded a moment later when _finally_ Bucky starts moving, and it takes a few gentle, testing thrusts before Steve clenches down on him. “Come on. Make me yours again, Buck,” he goads. “Make them know they can’t touch me.”

And Bucky just loses it.

The wolf is back in an instant, and the kisses and laughter and drawl are gone; Bucky’s metal hand returns to Steve’s back and shoves him flat against the counter, ignores the little grunt of pain Steve lets out when his head hits the marble. Bucky grabs his other hip hard and shoves him into the position he wants and then starts fucking him hard enough that Steve’s waist starts rubbing against the countertop. He’s jerking against the counter with every thrust, only the fronts of his thighs keeping him in place, and—

“ _Yesss~_ ,” he groans out, because it’s going to hurt tomorrow, it’s going to leave a mark, and even if Bucky disappears after this – a fear Steve isn’t dismissing – he’ll still be walking funny tomorrow. He’ll know this wasn’t just (another) dream. Bucky’s hips slap against his own, the sound of their bodies moving together and the slick noise of the lube making the coils in Steve’s gut twist all the harder. He feels like he really hasn’t had sex in the seventy-plus years since he first went down; his body isn’t used to this, and if Bucky’s growls and moans are anything to tell by, he feels like it, too.

Bucky isn’t speaking anymore, but he’s panting hard already, pulling back from leaning over his back and instead straight up jackhammering him. Steve would be amused by his own brain coming up with the verb if it wasn’t for maybe his brain getting fucked into pieces right now. It feels good, pleasant, hard, but then Bucky seems to realize Steve isn’t moaning like a whore and adjusts his angle a little.

The first time Bucky hits his prostate, Steve jerks hard enough to make them both pause for a second and moans at the air, fingers spasming on the counter. “ _Ohhhh,_ ” he rumbles, so loud he almost vibrates, and Bucky’s fingers tighten to keep him in place.

“Yeah,” he growls, and then thrusts into him again. Steve writhes, mouth hanging open, pressing insistently back into him.

“Buck, _aahn_ , _Buck_ —”

When he catches a glance of the brunet, his eyes are black and his lips are drawn back, baring his teeth in a snarl. He looks crazed, the glint in his eyes unnatural and hot, like the coals of a fire, and when he catches Steve looking at him he looks back, his mouth opening so his panting fills the air. Steve feels himself blushing crimson under the attention, like Bucky is partially getting off just from looking at him, and his friend only seems to like that more; he bends down and grabs Steve’s hair again, bending to lick his cheek, like he can taste the shy heat coming off him.

“Pretty, pretty baby,” he purrs, and Steve squirms, eyes screwing shut.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he complains, wanting to cover his face but nowhere near in the condition to do so. Bucky just smirks and starts sucking under his ear, his flesh hand coming around and pressing against Steve’s stomach, holding him just so. He stays like that until Steve gets the hint and keeps himself in the position, and then his hand slides down and wraps around him and starts pumping him to the rhythm of Bucky’s hips smacking into him.

Steve undulates like a cat, toes curling so hard his whole body rolls, and he might be whiting out a little. He doesn’t think he can be blamed. Every thrust is like a gunshot, sending him into punched-out gasps and into the warmth of Bucky’s fist. He was horny, anyway, and it doesn’t take him long before he’s teetering on the edge, rocking back and forth between the sensations.

“ _Buck_ ,” he tries to warn him, and Bucky leans in real close again, fully inside him, and just – just _grinds_ his hips, in and in and in, tight little movements that rub against Steve’s prostate again and again and again and Steve feels his vision tunneling.

“Steve,” he replies, “you’re mine,” soft, breathed into his ear. “Come. Now.” And he gives him one more full thrust and Steve loses it, teeth clenching but not muffling his groan as he comes all over his kitchen cabinet and floor, Bucky not bothering to try and catch it. He just strokes him through it, continuing his little grinding motions until Steve is panting again, hard, and squirming around with the sensitivity.

Bucky finally lets him go and grabs his hips again, and it only takes him a few more thrusts before he’s following him over the edge, teeth dug into Steve’s nape like he’s really trying to leave a mark. Steve moans along with him, feels Bucky’s come filling him up like a claim, and it’s been too long, too, too long.

The brunet stays there inside him, panting, licking over the wound he’d left on Steve like an apology. “Mine,” he repeats, softly, and kisses what is apparently a claim. “I wish it’d stay,” he says, nosing at it and pressing his cheek against Steve’s shoulder a minute later. “If I’d’a done it back in the day everyone’d know. Everyone who saw you.” Bucky’s hand glides down Steve’s side and starts stroking his stomach again. Steve probably should tell him that’s bound to get him hot and bothered again, but he doesn’t, enjoying the attention. And maybe a little scared.

He swallows. “Yeah… looks like we’ll have to come up with some other way for people to know who I belong to, hm?”

Bucky pauses his petting, and Steve can hear him thinking, even as a lazy “collars are kinda kinky, don’t ya think,” comes out of his mouth.

Steve stays quiet, closing his eyes and feeling the pulse of the wound on the back of his neck.

“Buck,” he pleads.

Bucky smiles against his shoulder, and his soft touches start up again – notably, only from his flesh hand. “Guess a collar wouldn’t be necessary if people saw my hand in your back pocket, huh?”

Steve can’t help smiling back, biting his lip a little before replying. “Guess we’ll have to find out.”

**Author's Note:**

> I need more fandom / writing friends! Please come talk to me on [tumblr](http://poes.tumblr.com)!


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